


Down By The Riverside

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Other Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-05
Updated: 2006-03-05
Packaged: 2018-08-16 00:46:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8080198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Some Sharkys and Fleeters get wet and wild. But not in a good way. Reed/m. (05/02/2004)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Ensign Ian Young belongs to DNash, and is used with her kind permission.  
  
This is a belated response to poor stressed-to-the-gills Miera's "Start Something" challenge. I'm afraid this fic is probably not quite as fluffy as she was hoping for, but I swear on Reed's smirk that it has a happy ending. I hope you enjoy it, babeâ€”you definitely deserve a little fun.  
This fic is also keeping another belated promise, this one for Squeaky: a long time ago she asked me to write her a story that featured Ensign Ian Young in a wet duffle bag. This was the closest thing I could come up with that made any sense.  
  
Finally, this was meant to be Gen, but I didn't know if 'unrequited slash' would actually count as a Gen sub-category, and it seemed ridiculous to put Kemper and Reed together and then pretend that nothing was going on. ;-> The slash content, however, such as it is, is extremely mild. It's pretty much just an adventure story. Hope y'all like it anyway.  


* * *

"You just had to start something, didn't you?"

Corporal Kit Chang had been complaining for the last half hour, at least, though Private Jacob 'Snipe' Rosenfeld had mostly stopped paying attention.

"We could be drinking beer in Sarge's billet right now, shooting the shit with the three Ms and Hawk. But Noooo..." Kit rolled his eyes so far back that Snipe was surprised he didn't keel over into the underbrush. "You just _had_ to shoot your mouth off and say that you'd seen trained monkeys shoot better than Lieutenant Reed. In the mess hall. With half of Lieutenant Reed's fucking armory staff right fucking there listening."

Two 'fucking's in one sentence—Kit was pretty upset. "I didn't know he was there, Kit," Snipe sighed for about the thousandth time. He ducked another dry, gnarled branch, then pushed a group of them aside with his rifle and his hand, thankful for the standard-issue gloves. They were in some kind of temperate forest, in winter. It was damp and very, very cold. Their breath was misting, and every so often Snipe would shiver, as if his body was suddenly remembering how miserable he was.

"Shoulda fucking looked," Kit scowled. He bobbed out of the way of a branch, 'accidentally' shoving Snipe as he moved. Snipe glared at him but said nothing. "So now I get to freeze my ass off, playing capture the fucking enemy in the middle of the fucking Arctic with Mister fucking Congeniality."

Three more 'fucking's; that had to be a record. "Yeah, well, you're no fucking ray of sunshine yourself, Kit," Snipe shot back. He purposefully stumbled over a root so he could shove Kit in revenge. "...And everyone's down here—Money, Mandy, Mac and Hawk included. It's not like it's just us." Kit just looked at him like he was too stupid to live. "We wouldn't even _be_ down here if you'd just kept your fucking mouth shut." He snorted in deep contempt, and a thick plume of steam billowed out of his nostrils. "'It'll be a good opportunity for the MACOs and armory staff to work together, share their strengths.'" Kit did a passable imitation of Major Hayes, repeating what he'd said in the briefing. He shook his head disgustedly. "'Share their strengths' my ass. This is just the brass sticking it to us because of your crap. You should've seen the way the fleeter Looey was smirking. God, I hate that smirk." Kit paused a second, then turned to his left, speaking over Snipe's head. "No offense."

The Starfleet ensign walking near Snipe was cute. Really cute, in fact: tall, with red hair and bright, intelligent eyes. Though admittedly Young—Snipe was pretty sure his name was Young—might have been cuter if he wasn't glowering at Kit like he was deciding where to hide the body.

Young spit his words through teeth clenched so tightly Snipe could see his jaw twitch. "Will you just shut the FUCK UP?"

Kit's forehead creased. "What the hell's _your_ problem?"

"My _problem_ ," the ensign was all but snarling. "Is that you've been bitching so damn loudly it's a wonder every other team down here hasn't taken us out by now." He looked straight ahead again, pushing aside a clump of branches with his dark blue jacket sleeve. He didn't have gloves, and his hands looked red with cold. "And you're driving me out of my fucking mind."

"Don't get your blue undies in a twist." Kit shrugged. "So we get tagged—who gives a shit? It's just some dumbass training exercise. The sooner this is over the sooner we can get back on board."

Young barely glanced at Kit, but his eyes went narrow as an angry cat's. "Maybe you don't care what your CO thinks of you, shark-boy, but I do. And I'm not going to let you assholes fuck us up just so you can get warm." His voice was low and deadly. "I swear to God—either of you says one more word not related to this mission and I'm taking my pistol off stun before I shoot you."

Kit rolled his eyes again, but he stopped talking.

"The river should keep anyone from overhearing us, sir," Snipe said to Young. He resented having to call the ensign 'sir,' but technically the fleeter outranked him. Technically, everyone on board _Enterprise_ did, except for the crewmen and women. At least the other MACOs were pretty casual about the rank thing, most of the time.

It still chapped his ass that he'd gotten busted down when Mac hadn't taken more than a couple weeks unpaid leave, when it was her who'd started the fight. He couldn't even remember what he'd said anymore, except that she'd totally lost it. She'd gone ballistic, nuts: screaming about ripping his balls out through his throat.

It wasn't _his_ fault that they were doing lunar survival training at the time. Getting body-slammed in zero-gee was really painful, too.

It definitely wasn't his fault that her air hose had detached—his arm had gotten caught when she head-butted him. It was just damn lucky she hadn't cracked both their faceplates.

But Major Hayes hadn't seen it like that, hadn't cared that it was just a dumb accident. He had ordered Mac off the base for starting the fight. But he had taken Snipe's rank away, for—he said—reacting so irresponsibly. That had hurt like hell.

"If I can hear you, then so can they, Private," Young snapped. Snipe bristled at how the guy stressed his rank, but Young was right—the sound of rushing water was close, but not close enough to make talking over it difficult.

"Yes, sir," Snipe said. Truth to tell, he wanted to kick ass down here as much as the fleeter did, because maybe it would impress Matthew. That would be sweet.

* * *

It was Kit, funnily enough, who noticed the other team first.

They'd been slogging for the better part of two hours; wretchedly cold and scratched by the nets of rough branches they'd had to push their way through. No one had been talking, just grimly set on putting one foot in front of the other and getting the drop on anyone else. They were so close to the river that they could see the white froth as the water surged over and around rocks, before smoothing out again a few meters downstream. It was loud enough now to nearly require shouting to be heard, so they'd relied on hand-signals, or the occasional sharp noise.

When Kit put his hand up Young and Snipe stopped dead, and Snipe suddenly felt as tense as if this were for real, not just some dumb exercise. He checked his rifle almost unconsciously; making sure it was on the mildest stun. A hit with that would only knock you out for about five minutes, but it'd still hurt enough to keep you from forgetting it.

All three men crept in the direction Kit pointed, footfalls soundless against the masking noise of the river. They were right on the edge of a clearing, one maybe four meters across and twice that wide. The trees thinned out near the water, and they could see the river easily now on their left. The river ran more slowly here, though still fast enough to be incredibly loud. It was very wide, and probably very deep.

The tree trunks in front of them were narrow, but thickly clustered, so they had to peer though the spaces between them. But it meant they could stay hidden, as long as they were quiet. Looking between the trees, they could see a giant boulder near the clearing's center: some kind of rough-looking dark gray stone.

And Major Matthew Hayes himself, leaning against it with his arms crossed. He couldn't have looked more relaxed if his eyes had been closed.

"Hot damn," Young whispered, leaning close so they could hear him. "Jackpot." He turned to Snipe. "Take him out."

Snipe stared at him, goggle-eyed. "What?"

Young's eyes did the cat-thing again. "I gave you an order, Private."

Snipe looked from Young to Kit. Matthew still hadn't moved. He might've started whistling—it was hard to hear because of the River. "I can't shoot our CO!"

"Oh for fuck's sake...!" Young hissed. But Snipe kept his eyes on Kit, hoping to get the corporal's support. He couldn't shoot Matthew. He couldn't.

"Chickenshit," Kit sneered. No support there either, obviously. "Fine." Kit raised his own rifle, sighting down the barrel. Snipe watched him, his gaze darting frantically back and forth between Kit and the Major. Snipe's hands clenched and unclenched around his rifle's grips.

He was seriously considering shooting the corporal. Maybe Young, too. The Major just leaned nonchalantly against the boulder; apparently oblivious to the world of pain he was about to be in.

"Olly, olly, ox-in-free," someone said loudly. It sounded a lot like Josh.

Snipe whipped his head to the side, found himself staring at a grinning Sergeant Kemper and a smirking Lieutenant Reed. And the rifles they were pointing at Kit and his own head. Kit already had his hands raised, his expression a mixture of frustration and embarrassment—Snipe hadn't heard Kit drop his rifle over the sound of the water. He sure as hell hadn't heard the officers sneaking up on them.

"Drop it, Private!" Reed said. He was still smirking. Bastard.

Snipe let his rifle drop from strangely nerveless fingers. His heart was pounding, and he could feel his face flushing, oddly warm in the cold air.

"I hate to say it, Lieutenant," Josh Kemper said conversationally, though he didn't take his eyes away from Kit or Snipe, "but I think trained monkeys could've done better than that."

Kit shot Snipe a glare. Snipe ignored him.

Josh kept talking, shaking his head in mock wonder. "I can't believe they fell for it—that's got to be the oldest trick in the database."

"Don't be too hasty in your judgment, Sergeant," Reed said. He put his hand on Josh's shoulder. "It must have been hard to hear us sneaking up on them, after all, with the river so nearby." His smirk became downright evil. "Of course, it's doubtful they could hear anything over their bickering."

"Okay..." Josh was obviously enjoying this, playing along. "How about trained orangutans, then?" He risked a glance at Reed, eyebrows raised. "What do you think, sir? Trained orangutans?"

"Oh, absolutely, Sergeant," Reed said, nodding. "I heartily agree that trained orangutans could have done better than these two. Speaking of which..." He turned his head, though Snipe knew Reed was still watching them out of the corner of his eye, and shouted into the clearing. "You can come out now, Ensign—as you can see, your comrades are rather at our mercy."

Snipe blinked. He hadn't realized Young wasn't beside him.

"So's yours!" Came the sudden answering yell, followed by the Major's unmistakable cursing.

Ensign young had somehow snuck by Matthew. He was standing on the top of the boulder, his rifle pointed directly at the Major's head. Matthew had his hands up, looking deeply annoyed. His rifle lay across his feet. "Hi, sir." Young let go of the barrel long enough to give a cheerful little wave.

"We seem to have a standoff, Ensign," Reed called to him, raising his voice to be heard above the water. He looked smugly proud.

"No we don't!" Young shouted back. "Go ahead—shoot them. I'd appreciate it!"

"There's still two of us." Josh joined in. He kept grinning, apparently finding all this really funny. White steam puffed through his smile. "You can't get us both." Snipe saw Josh's hands tighten on his rifle, and he swallowed. This was really going to hurt.

"Don't need to." Young's teeth were very bright against the gray sky. He jerked up his rifle and fired before he finished speaking.

Then a lot of things happened at once.

Reed must have seen Young moving, because he stepped smoothly in front of Josh, aiming his rifle at Young. He fired at almost the same moment Young did, but the ensign was a little faster. Reed's shot might have hit Young anyway, except getting stunned probably screwed up his aim.

Major Hayes threw himself into a roll out of Young's line of fire, grabbing his dropped rifle as he went. He came up in a crouch, whirled around...

Kit leapt for Josh the instant the sergeant was distracted by Reed's movement, batting Josh's rifle aside just as the lieutenant was hit. Kit pushed Reed's falling body into Josh, then turned towards the clearing to run for it. And skidded to a stop.

The boulder in the clearing glowed bright blue where the lieutenant's rifle blast hit.

Then it bellowed.

Snipe surged to his feet when Kit did, snatching up his rifle and preparing to shoot Josh. Then he heard a noise like an angry foghorn and whirled towards the clearing. And froze, gaping.

The boulder lifted straight up from the ground, rising to the height of a small building. It was held up by four spindly black legs, which unfolded like accordions. A gray bulb that might have been a head poked out from one side, followed by two enormous black tentacles, wet and slimy-looking, that unrolled from either side of the bulb and began rippling in the air. Two grotesque flaps of gray flesh dropped from underneath, where the boulder shape flattened out like a turtle's belly.

Young, still on top of the rocklike shell, cried out as he lost his footing. He fell hard on his back, dropping his rifle, then slid off the rounded edge. One of the tentacles whipped out and caught him. His scream almost drowned out the creature's howl.

Snipe saw Matthew slide his thumb down his rifle barrel, probably adjusting it from stun to kill. He began shooting at the creature's underside. The foghorn noise got louder, but that was the only change.

The second tentacle lashed out, smashing into the Major's side. Matthew was thrown like a toy, already limp. He was caught before he hit the ground, the tentacle wrapping him in an obscene parody of rescue.

Snipe switched his rifle over to kill as he ran into the clearing, numbly registering that Kit and Josh did the same. He stopped what he hoped was a safe distance away and fired, pressing the trigger as fast as he could. The creature kept making the earth-rumbling screeching, but wouldn't drop. It just wouldn't drop, like it was really made out of stone.

Instead it turned, surprisingly graceful on its sticklike legs. And as it moved, the two tentacles holding Young and Matthew lowered to the gray flaps under its body, one in front of each.

And then each flap opened, and each tentacle shoved a man in.

"MATT!" Snipe didn't even know he screamed. He just ran, keeping up a steady stream of fire. He thought he heard Josh shouting for Kit to stay with the unconscious lieutenant, but he wasn't sure; he wasn't listening.

The thing began galloping for the river, still bellowing. It plowed through the trees like a battering ram, splintering trunks to either side of its passage, uprooting them with it's two tentacle arms. It was like running through a war zone. A chunk of wood as long as Snipe's arm glanced off the side of his head, and he dropped to his knees, reeling. He heard Josh shouting his name and scrambled up again, blinking to clear his vision.

Snipe kept firing. He aimed for the creature's hard-shelled back, so he wouldn't risk blasting the pouches. Each time he hit the spot glowed blue, but that was all. A chunk of wood struck his shoulder—he barely felt it.

"Help me!" Josh was shooting at the creature's legs, missing as often as he hit. Snipe automatically re-aimed, trying to hit the same knobby joint every time. He managed it more often that the sergeant, for all the good it did.

The gray pouches swayed back and forth as the thing ran, one holding Matthew, one the fleeter ensign. There was no way to know if either of them was even still alive.

* * *

The creature bashed through one final cluster of sickly-looking trees, and suddenly it was in the river, sunk up to the highest joints on its legs. Its tentacles waved madly, splashing in and out of the water and sending up huge clouds of spray. The pouches dipped in the river every time it moved.

Snipe stopped running when his leg hit against a snapped tree trunk and he stumbled to his knees, just centimeters from the water. He was panting, gasping in huge breaths of the freezing air. His arms were shaking so badly he almost dropped his rifle. Josh came up beside him, chest heaving and blowing steam. There was blood running down the sergeant's forehead, into his eyes. The blood was steaming, too. Snipe realized he hadn't seen steam coming from any part of the creature. He didn't know if that meant it didn't breathe, or that it's body was so cold the air around it made no difference.

"Fuck," Josh gasped. "Fuck. What do we do now?"

Snipe shook his head dumbly, just trying to breathe. He kept his eyes on the still creature and the pouches. They were half-sunk in the water now, moving lazily with the push of the current. Cold. The creature must be cold-blooded or something, unless it didn't breathe. The water had to be freezing. Snipe was hot now, flushed with exertion. The cold air made his lungs hurt. He thought of Young's red fingers, Matthew's limp body—the Major was unconscious when that thing grabbed him. Snipe didn't know about Young. Were they freezing to death? Were they already dead?

Snipe made a sound somewhere between despair and rage. He brought up his rifle again, his useless fucking rifle, and fired, and fired, and fired. He aimed for the shell, for the joints, for the tentacles when he could see them on the far side of the creature's bulk. It did nothing.

"Wait," Josh gasped out. He put a shaking hand on Snipe's rifle. "Look."

The creature had started trembling on its thin black legs, its tentacles hanging limply in the water. The shaking increased as they watched, until in seconds it seemed even the shell was vibrating. Then the tentacles thrashed the water, once, and the bellowing noise finally stopped.

Almost in tandem, the two pouches detached from the creature's underbelly, sinking like stones.

The creature levered its way up the opposite bank, crashing out of sight into the forest.

Snipe had lurched to his feet, was in the water, before the thought even formed in his head. The cold was impossible, amazing. The shock of it was like a fist in his chest, knives in his eye sockets. He almost gasped, chest bucking with the reflex of it. But he kept his mouth shut as he fought his way down. The freezing water slid between his lips, made his teeth ache.

The river was murky, churned up by the creature's legs. He kept swimming, pulling himself downward. The water seemed thicker than water on Earth, but that might just have been the cold, or the speed of the current, or that he was trying to swim quickly with all his gear on. He'd barely taken the time to drop the damn rifle.

The current pushed against him like hands, forcing him further and further downstream. It made diving difficult, and he was scared he'd miss the two men entirely—be swept right on past them. Unless the current had taken them too, which meant he'd never find them...

No. They were there. _Right there_ : two cylinders of gray, tumbling gently along the bottom of the river, stirring up silt. Snipe's heart hammered once in relief, and he pushed himself harder, trying to get to them.

He had just grabbed the first pouch, taking a handful of the surprisingly rubbery flesh, when he saw something moving on his right. He went for his belt-knife automatically, his movements unfamiliar and slow in water. There were animals down here? God, there were _animals_ and he hadn't even thought about it—

But it was Joshua. Sergeant Kemper, swimming with all his might after the other rolling pouch-thing. Snipe's relief was so intense he might have sighed, but he didn't have the air.

He didn't have any air. It felt like there was no air left in his body. His lungs were tight and painful, the need to breathe like a stone under his jaw. And he'd never been so cold.

He ignored all of it, thinking only about getting back to the surface, taking the pouch with him. It was no longer rolling with him holding onto it, but the current was still pulling them both steadily downstream.

The pouch was too heavy to lift. He tried, but he couldn't do it. He still had his knife, though, clutched in his right hand. Maybe he could cut it open...

He hesitated. What if he cut the man in there? But his lungs blazed like acid and he knew he was out of options. He tightened his grip on the pouch as well as he could, then stabbed into it with his knife, pushing the blade in as far as he dared. He began sawing with the serrated blade.

The flesh parted like he was cutting fruit. Dark gray liquid gushed out—it looked like paint—only to be caught and pulled away by the current. A foot floated up, in a Starfleet-issue boot. Snipe tried not to be disappointed.

He kept cutting; moving faster now that he knew how deep his knife could go. When he had almost reached the ensign's head he dropped the knife and began pulling at Young's shoulders, giving a mental shout of triumph when he finally tugged him free.

Snipe threw an arm over Young's shoulder and across his chest, then kicked for the surface with all his might. He didn't think about how still the man was, how he already looked like a corpse. He just pulled them both towards the light with every last bit of strength left in him.

He was seeing black spots by the time they cleared the surface, and moving was like hauling lead. Then his head finally broke free of the water and his held breath exploded out of him. He flipped onto his back, coughing and gasping. He pulled Young as best he could onto his chest, keeping his head out of the water. He was shaking so badly he could barely hold onto him.

Something grabbed his arm.

Snipe cried out—a pathetic, exhausted squeak—and tried to hit the thing attacking him, or move away, or do anything. But he couldn't. He didn't have the strength. He felt something grab his collar now, slide against his neck. It was so hot it almost burned him.

"St-stop it! C-calm the hell down!"

That was Kit's voice. That was Kit! Snipe turned his head and was looking up into Kit's anxious face. The other MACO was trembling with cold.

"Help me," Kit ordered, and Snipe realized Kit was trying to pull them to the shore.

Obediently, he kicked against the current, tried to backstroke with his one free arm, ignoring the awful burn in his limbs. He closed his eyes against the cold and the pain, concentrating on nothing but moving and keeping Young's head out of the water.

He automatically tightened his grip when someone tried to pull Young away from him, but then the ensign was gone and he was being hauled on his stomach onto solid ground. He lay there, with his feet still dangling in the water, shaking and too wiped out to move. His next breath in wheezed, rattling painfully in his chest. He forced his eyes open to slits.

Reed was dragging Young further up the bank, while Kit was standing at the river's edge, staring out across the water. Reed was wearing only his blue skivvies. Even his boots were off—his feet were bare, very white against the gray-brown earth. Snipe figured he had to be freezing. Kit wasn't wearing his jacket, and he was shivering violently, standing with his arms clasped tight across his chest. Didn't he know he could freeze to death like that, after being in such cold water? Steam rose off of both men, from the heat of their bodies, strangely beautiful as it curled and disappeared into the air.

Suddenly Kit perked up. "There!" He shouted it back at Reed, already running back into the water.

Reed took enough time to put Young on his side, then he raced after Kit, grabbing something up off the ground. It was his uniform, Snipe realized dully. Reed was holding onto the jumpsuit legs. One sleeve was tied to the sleeve of his black shirt, which was tied to one of the sleeves of Kit's jacket. The other jacket sleeve was tied to Kit's belt, kind of like a tail.

Reed waded into the water until it was nearly up to his chest. Snipe couldn't see Kit anymore, but he assumed the corporal was swimming out in the current, trying to grab Josh and Matthew. At least he hoped so.

_They need help_ , Snipe thought. _I have to help them_. He tried to get up, but he was shaking so hard his arms wouldn't hold him. He couldn't even move his feet out of the water.

He looked at Young again. The ensign was in a bad way: his lips were blue, the rest of his face frighteningly white. Snipe had no idea if the blue was from cold or lack of oxygen. He couldn't see if Young was breathing or not.

That was bad. That was very, very bad. You had like, what? Four minutes before lack of oxygen wrecked your brain? He had to get up, had to get Young breathing.

Groaning, Snipe managed to push himself onto hands and knees, only to be hit by such a rush of dizziness that he swayed, toppled onto his side. He lay there gasping, listening to the sickly wheezing that now followed every pull of air into his body. He squeezed his eyes shut. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. The damn fleeter was _not_ going to die after all this because he was too weak to fucking _crawl_...!

There had to be another way. Maybe there were other teams nearby. Maybe he could comm them for help—

_Idiot! Stupid, fucking shit-for-brains moron_! There was help orbiting right above his head.

He slid his hand across the ground until he could tap his throat with numb fingers, hitting the communicator implant. He sighed in relief when he felt the vibration that meant it was working. "Snipe to _Enterprise_ ," he croaked. Boy did his voice sound bad.

"Snipe?" He recognized Ensign Sato. "...Private Rosenfeld? Is that you?"

He could have kissed her. Maybe he would, later. "Medical emergency," he said, trying to remember what the hell were the right words to use. It felt like he was pulling his thoughts through mud. "Young...Ensign Young...Cold. Lip's're blue." He had to stop to take a breath, and it made that ugly wheezing sound. "Needs help." Yeah, that would work.

"We're locking onto his bio sign now, Private," Sato said. Snipe thought he heard a tremor in her voice. There was a tiny pause. "Transporting."

Young's body suddenly shimmered, dissolving into blue light. It did look kind of psychedelic, actually.

He heard new noise from the river, and lifted his head enough to see Reed and Kit trying to drag Josh and Matthew out of the water. Kit had his arms gripped around the Major's chest, pulling him. Matthew was just hanging there like a dead weight. Kit stumbled, then fell backwards onto the bank, trembling fiercely, most of him and Matthew still in the water. Kit stuttered out some obscenity, but he didn't get up again. The clothes rope trailed out in the water, waving in the current.

Reed and Josh were doing a little better, but only because Josh was still walking. They got all the way out of the river before Josh quietly collapsed. Reed tried to help him, but he fell to his hands and knees.

"Rosenfeld? Snipe? Are you there?"

Oh, yeah. His communicator was still on. "Five more. Medical..." Snipe wheezed a few more times. "Medic..."

Being transported sort of tingled, too. No wonder Kit liked it.

* * *

"Hey, how's the invalid?"

"Screw you, Hawk," Snipe's scowl changed to a grin when Nathan held up a beer bottle, waggling his eyebrows. "Now _that's_ more like it." He caught the tossed bottle neatly and sat further up in bed, twisting off the cap. He took a long drink, then settled back with a happy sigh. "Definitely more like it." He raised the bottle in a toast. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," Nathan said. He sat in the desk chair, setting his heels on the table. "'Least I can do for the man who saved our illustrious leader's ass."

Snipe's smile dropped. "That wasn't me, Hawk." He played with a corner of his beer label. "The Sarge saved Mat—Major Hayes. I saved the fleeter."

"Luck of the draw," Nathan shrugged. He took another pull of his bottle. "Seems to me, the important part is that you dove into a freezing river to go after them."

"Maybe." Snipe glanced sideways at Nathan, suddenly feeling suspicious. "Did Josh put you up to this?"

"Huh?" Nathan gazed at him over his beer bottle, his eyes wide and innocent as he drank. He took his time swallowing. "Why would you think that?"

"Because he's still in sick bay, and I'm pretty much confined to quarters until the doc decides my lungs're okay," Snipe said immediately. As if on cue, he wheezed again, then coughed. "Fuck."

Nathan laughed, then raised his hand in apology when Snipe glared at him. "Sorry." He cocked his head, smiling. "Hayes is still in sick bay too, you know."

"So?" Snipe frowned at his beer, ripped off another strip of the label. Then he looked back at Nathan, suddenly worried. "He okay?"

"He's fine," Nathan said soothingly. "They're both fine—Ian Young, too. Josh and Ian will be out tonight. The doc wants to keep the Major another couple days, though, but that's just 'till his ribs have finished knitting."

So the fleeter's first name was Ian. He'd have to remember that. And he was okay too. Like Matthew. They all were. "Good." Snipe went back to faking interest in his beer. "That's good."

"What I meant," Nathan said casually, "is that maybe it was Hayes who asked me to come see you."

Snipe sat straight up, swung his legs over the side of his cot so he could face Nathan completely. "Don't fuck with me."

Nathan's expression went completely serious. "MACO's honor."

Snipe blinked. "Wow," he said quietly. He took another pull from the bottle, mostly to give his nerves time to stop jangling. "So, uh...So what did he say?"

"He was damn impressed," Nathan said. "He wanted me to tell you."

"He was?" Snipe asked. Then he had to turn away at Nathan's knowing smile, feeling himself blushing. "I mean," he said, "it wasn't a big deal. Josh dove in too, right? And Kit and the Looey nearly froze to death pulling us out of there." He started picking at the bottle label again. He'd ripped most of it off by now. He gave up and put the bottle on the floor. "Like you said—just the luck of the draw."

"Well, I'll guess you'll have to talk to him about that," Nathan said. "When you get out of here." He tipped his bottle back, finishing it, then put it on the desk. He stood, reaching into his pocket. "But he also asked me to tell you..." he paused, like he was trying to remember the words Matthew had used, then nodded to himself. "Yeah, this is what he said—He wanted me to tell you that 'he expected that kind of selfless action from Kemper, and even Chang, but until yesterday he didn't know he could also expect it from you.'" Nathan grinned, pleased. "That's exactly what he said." He walked the few steps from the desk to Snipe's cot. "And he wanted me to give you this." He handed Snipe a small piece of cloth. "He said he'd make it official as soon as he could send a message back to Earth."

Snipe took the cloth wordlessly. His heart started thumping, making him breathe faster. He wheezed again.

It was a shoulder patch, the one worn on the right, which showed rank. This one showed the rank of Corporal.

"No way," he breathed. He looked up at Nathan, not caring if he was blushing, if he was wheezing so hard they could hear him on the bridge. "He gave you this. To give to me." He held the patch in both hands, running his thumbs over it, feeling the embroidered symbols for the rank of corporal. His rank. He had to look at it again, to make sure it was real. "No way."

"MACO's honor," Nathan said quietly. He squeezed Snipe's shoulder. "Congratulations, Corporal Rosenfeld. Welcome back."

"Thanks, Nate," Snipe said. He was still looking at the patch when his friend left the room.


End file.
